


Letter to the Dead

by sidebyside_archivist



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Epistolary, M/M, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-01
Updated: 2007-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25498600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidebyside_archivist/pseuds/sidebyside_archivist
Summary: Kirk tries to cope with the death of his spouse after Khan. No happy ending, some angst.
Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock
Kudos: 1
Collections: Side By Side Issue 22





	Letter to the Dead

**Author's Note:**

> Note from LadyKardasi and Sahviere, the archivists: this story was originally archived at [Side by Side](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Side_by_Side_\(Star_Trek:_TOS_zine\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2020. We tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Side by Side’s collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sidebyside/profile).

Dear Spock,

How stupid would you think me, writing to a dead man? I'm assured by some books I read it's good therapy, but I'm willing to try anything short of staring into the depths of a bottle of Saurian brandy. I already did that once, and all it did was give me one more in a series of hangovers, and even Bones's little red pills didn't help that.

So I'm trying this.

How to begin? I guess I want to--somehow--let you know again how much you meant to me. How glad I was that we joined. I was so afraid of "forever," but you never were, except that once, when you left me--and that, ultimately, was my fault, again. I was always so good at destroying relationships. I did my best by you the second time around, once you came back from Gol. And we had some good times, didn't we?

That time we revisited Berengaria, and you got me to ride a dragon with you. "Just like riding a horse," you said, though I'd never seen one that mounted into the sky on leathery wings. I wasn't going to show the natives how terrified I was. Me, the great James T. Kirk, climber of mountains, captain of starships. I've done free-fall paragliding from just the edge of Terra's atmosphere with only the burn-out suit between me and vacuum. But dragons, though they don't eat people, have very sharp teeth and a wicked gleam in their eye, and besides they really do breathe fire. I had no desire to wind up extra-crispy.

But you gave me that look, the shine in your eyes that said you really, really wanted to do this, and since it wasn't a chance offered to outworlders often, how could I turn you down? I loved that glimmer that said, "How exciting," though you never said the words. You were always so curious, like a cat, wanted to know everything there was to know. I think that would be your idea of heaven--a chance to wander the galaxy and learn the learnable and a few that none of us can know. Maybe that's what you're doing now. I like to think so, though it may only be wishful thinking. You know me. I was never a religious man. But if there is a heaven, that's what it'd be, to you.

Then remember the time Bones and I got you drunk? We were at that bar, the one on Gnosis Prime, and you insisted on Altairian water. Couldn't even interest you in a brandy. And that bridegroom proposed a toast--he was buying. Bartender brought glasses over, tiny little fragile works of art, with a swirling purple liquor in them, and said it was "bad form" to refuse. Even a Vulcan doesn't ignore "form" on Gnosis Prime--it's the closest thing to an immutable law any locals have. So you drank it, and somehow the ingredients hit that green blood of yours, and next thing, we were watching you serenade the bridegroom's party.

Of course I don't remember much, myself, about the rest of the night--but Bones recorded it all. "Designated driver," he called himself, and he was the only one in our party who didn't have to drink to the health of the wedding party.

Good thing he gave me the tape. Gods, Spock, I think I still have it, locked in that case with the other "incriminating" stuff we didn't really want the world to see. There's enough there on both of us, of course. You don't have to worry about it ever seeing daylight under prying eyes--except maybe mine. I may look at it soon, when it doesn't hurt too much.

The hurt, they say, does go away, eventually. Of course "they" weren't talking a mind-linked bonding. We had that, and more, according to your grandmother. You know, Spock, I even miss her. When we went to Vulcan for her farewell, two years ago, when she said she knew she was dying soon and had some loose ends to tie up first, she took me aside and told me how "gratified" she was that you and I were back together. Nearly floored me, I tell you. She said she knew we were "supposed to be together"--and yes, those were her exact words--from that day of your first Time. She said, and I quote, "My grandson and you have made an old woman's ending years very good ones." I tell you, Spock, it was the closest thing to an emotion I'd seen on T'Pau's face, ever, but she said that as one who was dying, it was her right to be as emotional as she wished.

And that she wanted me to know that as the Matriarch of Clan Surak, I had the gratitude of all of Vulcan. She was handing the reins to Amanda, who would hand them off to Saavik, eventually, apparently.

I tell you, Spock, it meant a lot to me, to know you were not the outcast you thought you'd always been, all those years ago. I don't know if you ever knew it, but T'Pau wouldn't let your father excise you from the family, though he wanted to when you first left for StarFleet. He's changed, too, you know. He loves you. He'll never say it, but I saw him watching you, and I know. Amanda says he collects tapes of our missions, the ones that have generated publicity over the years, and keeps them in a sheshim wood case in the den. I guess he always meant for you to have that, some day.

Oh, Gods, Spock, I feel like half my life has been ripped away. When you died, I felt the link shred and die and it was all I could do to not scream out my pain to the universe. Bones and Scotty and the whole damn engineering staff watched as I slid to the floor. I know it's a myth that when one partner dies, so does the other, but sometimes I know how believable that myth can be, when it hurts so much. You always said I was mindblind. I wonder how Vulcans can stand it, myself. I understand now why you hurt, so long ago, when the Intrepid died, how it was that you knew they were all dead. I'm only now understanding the control that kept you from screaming.

They flushed the compartment before they could get your body out, Spock. Took them a few hours. I brought out your black meditation robe, the last thing you wore before you got dressed in uniform that day. I made them put it on you. I wanted to touch your face, to hold your hand, but that was impossible, they said. They had to put radiation suits on even to dress you in the damn robe. Then you were sealed into the torpedo casing. We placed you on Genesis, Spock. It was a beautiful world we left you on, and I'm sure you'd have been proud. I guess we were lucky to have a body at all. So many missions that either one of us could have died with nothing left to hold a funeral for, so many times I've thought that I had lost you, in one near-disaster after another.

We always beat the odds, you and I, but I guess the universe has a way of stacking the cards. The House never loses. I'm selfish, though. I wanted a few more years. I wanted to go before you, Spock. You know, eventually they would have retired us both. You could have done anything you want. I was thinking maybe it was time to, oh, I don't know, maybe adopt, maybe get a surrogate--I don't think either one of us could stand pregnancy after what we've been though--and have a child or two. Of course when I was entertaining idle thoughts like this, it was before I knew about David. You adopted Saavik, even before I met her close up and personal. Maybe those two would have been enough, though David wasn't exactly carrying on the Kirk name.

I don't know. I only know that I feel very tired, very worn out, and that I miss you. I miss you in the morning, when I wake to a cold and lonely bed. I miss you at noon, when we used to meet for lunch if our schedule allowed, and when it didn't we sent each other notes, that even though they looked like routine communications to everyone else, to us, we knew they said, "I love you." I miss you when I come home to this apartment. I can't get rid of it--it's crowded with your memories and a lifetime of my antique collecting, but it's hard to live in it, too, some days. I miss you at dinner, and I miss you when I stare at our old chess set, the one thing I stole from the recreation deck on the old Enterprise. I stare at my old coffee mug on the counter, the one that Rand gave me as a gag gift, remember? It says, "I (heart) Vulcans." Anyway, I remember the week before when we lazed around, one of our rare days off together, and you filled it with coffee and brought it to me.

And you asked me what I wanted for my birthday.

And I told you I already had everything a man could want. I had you.

Gods, Spock, will it ever stop hurting?


End file.
